


Ballet and Birthday Cakes

by StrikeTeamDelta (panicsdownpour)



Series: Soviet Assassins and School Recitals [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BuckyNat Secret Santa, F/M, Romanov kiddo, buckynat - Freeform, slight canon-divergence in regards to Nat's history with ballet, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicsdownpour/pseuds/StrikeTeamDelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha, James, and a slightly crooked birthday cake. Special appearance made by their own tiny dancer. A spot of domestic fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballet and Birthday Cakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_shameless_shipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_shameless_shipper/gifts).



"Whose idea was this again?"

Natasha murmured under her breath to the dark-haired man beside her, eyes remained trained on the toddler twirling precariously through their living room. Furniture pushed to the sides to make room for the performance they were being treated too, the man beside her had to resist the urge to shake his hair back down into his eyes to be sure he was concealing the wince when the coffee table took a hit. "Who said tots can't dance?" he whispered back, a smile appearing despite the tone of their chatter. Sure the two probably sounded critical from an onlooker’s standpoint, but in truth, Natasha was prouder than she let on, and Bucky was more impressed than he could contain for long. Alya sashaying around the room may have looked a little messy to the Bolshoi, but she was four and community theater trained and the most adorable ballerina Nat had ever seen. Picking up one of her partners (i.e. Bunny the teddy bear), the practice mix crescendoed and up went the baby blue stuffed animal into the air, landing in the girl's arms by some great miracle. Of course, the couple would have pretended they'd seen nothing of the minor difficulty had it occurred. After all, as they must have told the girl a million times before, everyone makes mistakes.

After quite the six minutes, Swan Lake came to an end, and the little girl, hair falling out of the tight bun her mother had pulled it into upon request, curtsied just as she’d been taught in class. The proceeding look of expectation was met with a thunderous applause, as thunderous an applause as Natasha and Bucky could manage as an audience of two. "Beautiful. Brava," came the feedback from Bucky as he pulled the elastic band from his own hair. He'd let his daughter talk him into a hairstyle mimicking hers; he secretly didn't mind it as much as he might have imagined he would.  


Their own personal performance had been the first of Bucky’s birthday presents for the evening, and one last run through of her routine before her class' recital the following evening. After six months worth of classes, the Tiny Tots Ballet School, run out of a Washington D.C. suburbs recreation center, was ready to showcase the pint-sized dancers newly bestowed upon skills of grace and dance for their families. 

Alya’s stint of seriousness broke with upon receival of the praise, beaming as she approached Bucky’s outstretched arms. 

"Hold me closer, tiny da-a-a-a-ancer..." 

The words of Elton John’s hit sung comically out of tune, Alya's giggles followed close behind, eyes rolling even as she snuggled further into his arms, Natasha already up and dropping a kiss to the crown of Alya’s head, heading for the kitchen, stopping to watch from the doorway.  


“When you two are finished, we still have cake and presents- sorry, more presents,” she corrected herself, smile evident in the slight upturned pull of her lips. If it was up to Bucky, and Natasha didn’t keep them on some semblance of a schedule, God knew Alya would have a bedtime somewhere north of midnight. 

Leaving father and daughter to their laughter and discussion, Natasha got right to setting out the plates she and Alya had picked at the party supply that morning, blue and green striped, with matching plastic plates and a cone shaped party hat that boasted ‘Birthday Boy’. Silly as he could be sometimes, she knew they’d picked right. Candles set into the cake, cake placed on the kitchen table, the next track on the practice disc picked up, and she placed it as the Masquerade Suite Waltz, the masterful sounds of the St. Petersburg State Symphony Orchestra wafting in from the next room.

"четвертая позиция...fifth position... " she breathed, bare feet moving along the scuffed floor slowly, arms following the movements of her memories, the display similar to that she’d just seen.

Natasha might not have truly danced for the Bolshoi, but the memories sometimes almost felt real, and the instructions barked off were in line with that received by the famed dancers. The calculated russian came with ease through the foggy memories, and she murmured the lines to herself as she pirouetted small across the worn hardwood, wobbly though it held. Not as graceful as that foggy instruction directed, but she could find the fun in it her daughter had so recently discovered.

"Mama, you're beautiful." From the doorway came the verdict, from a smile she hadn't realized was perched there, a bright pair of hazel eyes peering around the doorway. What a rare moment, to be caught by surprise, and such a sweet reminder of her new life. Natalia Romanova, professional spy and master assassin, caught off guard by a preschooler in a bright pink tutu, not there to hurt or capture but to praise. "Присоединяйся ко мне  
," Natasha responded, holding her hands out for her daughter, the familiar russian the child knew making her come running to take the hands of her mother, Natasha twirling the girl around with a graceful flick and roll of her wrist, lithe fingers moving just as easily as if they'd always worked this routine together. The track had ended and so to imaginary music, the echo of a Tchaikovsky piece, they finished off with a hug that could have been choreographed it felt so cheesy. "маленькая бабочка, you are twice that.". 

Right around the time she and Clint had returned from a mission to St. Petersburg, right before the mess that was the Budapest mission, Natasha had vowed she'd never return to her home country. Not for anger or pain, but for memories. About two years ago,she'd gone back on that promise. The move of going back on something she’d sworn against was entirely uncharacteristic, but now felt entirely right. Alya had come to them through SHIELD, not a victim of any Red Room-esque plot but instead as an orphan Maria Hill had taken in a siege on an orphanage in Kytzl. The orphanage was deemed unfit by the end of their mission to suss out the workers plotting against SHIELD interests, and one had taken particularly to Maria. So much so that one worker had stowed her away in their luggage, Alya discovered after takeoff, halfway across the Pacific. With the orphanage already dissolved, Natasha had been called in to translate, as her Russian exceeded most others agents, spanning conversational and child-friendly, instead of solely governmental, the cold speech of negotiations. She hadn't believed in love at first sight, even in terms of James, but she'd taken to the girl almost immediately, despite the way she’d initially held back. Alya had taken to her almost as easily. Her father she accepted even quicker, and now, a year and a half post-adoption, you’d be hard pressed to pick up on their divergent pasts if you weren't told. It was funny, how things had worked out.  


…  


The adoption may have started with Natasha, but ballet had been Bucky's idea, schemed up after a round of tea party and a week at home while Natasha was off on a mission. "You remember any of your training from the Bolshoi. I was thinking you might teach the little butterfly.". The request had come during a late night celebratory drink, after kissing Alya goodnight and finally curling up to the sweet bliss of home. A concept she was still cozying up to, their cat Lilo purring her pleasure at the peace and nudging at Bucky’s arm to let her under so she could snuggle in with them. “That was all дымка,” she’d explained. brow furrowing slightly as she considered his proposal, thinking back on what knowledge she really had of the art, filtering through the ill feelings to find the good, the useful. “Smoke,” she translated the word for him, “a cover.” She’d learned enough to uphold the lie and the mission, and past that she was no expert. But if Alya wanted to learn so badly, she could teach her the bare bones of the style while they searched for a proper class. From the way their curious little girl flitted from activity to activity, Natasha wasn’t so sure a serious interest would last. As she had been so many times since the wade into the tide of parenting, she’d been proven wrong, and Bucky had gotten a kick out of it, with each and every lesson Alya came home gushing over.

The performance had been part one of his birthday gifts, part two wrapped in Sunday morning newsprint cartoons. He was older than he wanted to calculate, and more excited than he’d been for a birthday of his own in a long time. Entering the room with Alya running ahead, he spotted the crooked cake and two wrapped gifts, a card sat on top. The cake was two layers, chocolate, and a minor divergence from cakes of birthdays past. There was a little extra love in the squiggly “Happy Birthday” squeezed on in purple cake gel. Just when he thought he couldn't fall any more in love with the girls in front of him. 

“For me? Nah, you didn't? Thought you were just tryin’ to mess with me.” A hint of his long faded Brooklyn accent surfaced with the overemphasized denial and disbelief in his daughter’s generosity, Alya’s fists scrunched tight, pressed in front of her mouth to stifle the excited giggles, nodding to confirm as her cheeks pinked. “You really know how to make a guy feel special. Presents first, right, kiddo? Then that beauty,” he announced decidedly, nodding towards the cake. “Help me open this one, princess.” Shaking the package gently beside his ear, Bucky hmm-ed and wow-ed, fawned over the neatness of the wrapping and the choice of paper. He’d mentioned how he’d liked the Sunday funnies as a child, to Alya one early morning when Nat was still in bed and he’d proposed a breakfast date. While he might have torn the wrapping to shreds and tossed it over his shoulder, Alya carefully peeled the decorative blue and green striped paper (clearly another victim of Alya’s stamper set), pulling the tape with as much care as her nimble fingers could manage. She was her mother’s child as much as his, and the moment wasn't lost on Natasha.

Wrapped so carefully between sheets of the Family Circus and Little Orphan Annie lay a scrapbook, each page decorated with printed photos or vivid, crayoned drawings. The subjects spanned the entirety of their mismatched family- Natasha, Bucky, Alya, and Lilo, as well as Clint, Steve, Sam, Tony, and the rest of the Avengers brood. Flipping through with a certain reverence for the obvious time and affection put into it, he couldn’t fight off the grin that surfaced, left hand carding through his hair, the other turning the pages until he hit the last. Their adoption photo was centered under a traced “I love you”, in red crayon, Natasha’s block lettering in light pencil just visible beneath the red. “No pictures, put the darn thing away,” Bucky mumbled once he finally looked up from the gift, offering a smile to an eagerly waiting Alya, waving off Natasha’s attempt to capture his swipe at tears. “Love it, sweetheart.” The rough thanks was punctuated with a kiss to her cheek and a kiss returned, and he didn’t bother to protest when the flash of Natasha’s cell phone went off.

After a few swiped-away tears, Natasha’s coupon book gift (“Pepper’s idea. For later, big guy"), the watch he’d been eyeing, and enough cake to just avoid a belly ache, it was safe to say the clan was sated but exhausted. Alya didn’t have it in her anymore to ‘eww’ her parents’ kiss, Bucky pulling Natasha in with a thank you for the party, and when the girl was reduced to pushing the remains of her cake around her plate, Bucky knew it was time to put the wraps on the night. “It’s your day. I’ll clean up down here. You clean up Sticky,” Natasha said softly, wiping a smudge of chocolate frosting from the corner of Bucky’s lips before swiping a kiss from his lips, soft and sweet and sleepy, Alya’s head rested on her arms crossed on the table, nose wrinkling. 

“I love you.” 

“I know. Love you too. Especially after those gifts. So I can redeem those coupons of mine anytime?” Bucky asked, wiggling his eyebrows in what Natasha could only describe as the least seductive move she’d ever seen, laughter bubbling up as she lightly pushed him away, eyes rolling. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he smirked, doing just as he was told when the nudge to ‘just go’ came, pushing away from the table to give Alya’s back a pat.

“C’mere, kid.” Bucky scooped the little girl up into his arms, her head resting heavy on his shoulder, an arm thrown around his neck as he carried her out of the kitchen and towards the stairs leading up to the second floor landing, and her bedroom. What Alya liked to affectionately refer to as his “robot arm” did the brunt of the lifting, it was his flesh-and-blood hand that gently stroked back the wispy locks draped over her eyes, the warmth in his chest burning brighter. All the birthdays spent with his family, then in ally camps while away at war, and for decades more or less behind bars, never did he foresee such a turnout in his cards. That a family of his own would fall into place, he’d get that post-war dream. Late but worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely The_shameless_shipper, for the BuckyNat Secret Santa 2015. Hoping you like it, that your holidays were amazing, and your new year is even better. 
> 
> This is very likely going to turn into a series of domestic drabbles and one-shots featuring Bucky, Natasha, and select reappearances of little Alya. Feedback and creative criticism always welcome! Thanks for the read :)
> 
> (In case you're interested, companion playlist is linked here: https://open.spotify.com/user/1297627393/playlist/1vOs0OywW6MdTc773HmNCU . 8track link to come shortly!)


End file.
